“In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.”
“I'm not going to kid you that if you walk into the jungle, you won't find a single poppy. But it would only be one of a few plants grown by an addict for personal consumption. Commercial cultivation is over.”
“[Poppy and Daisy, meanwhile, can look forward to further immortalisation in a sequel to the book, which, feminist objections notwithstanding, has been on the top 10 bestseller list for several months.] I'd really like to do another one, from ages one to three, but after that there comes a time where you have to say, 'That's enough', ... We don't put them in adverts or anything, and I think when they go to school that will be that.”